We Are Our Greatest Enemy
by she-who-hears
Summary: John Laurens was dying and he was selfish for not wanting to.


John Laurens really did have the shittiest luck.

There were a few skirmishes after Yorktown that would quickly be taken care of. He was riding his horse, and was in that sort of military zone that only soldiers got when the world seemed to blur around them and their only focus was breathing the cold air.

He had shrugged off the usual pleas of staying safe with a bright smile on his face, but couldn't help but get a foreboding feeling in his stomach. The last time he got that feeling was at Westpoint.

Suddenly he was lying on the dead grass with a faint stinging in his side.

His horse had run off, leaving him with only adrenaline coursing through his veins. Once that had faded, he finally got the courage to look down and see something that almost made him vomit.

Dizzy in his head and dry in his throat, he forced himself to come to terms of the blood soaked wound staining his shirt. More blood was pouring and fuck that was his blood _and it wasn't supposed to be there._

Green eyes stared at the grey sky up above. _Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck._

Fucking goddamn shit, he was really going to die. He was going to die it wasn't some kind of dream, he wasn't going to wake up in his sheets back home. It wasn't going to happen.

For some reason, any higher power felt pity for him and let him remember his fondest memories before his death, like Lafs endearing slip ups or Hercules' crude humor or Alex.

God, _Alex._

He could already picture it; Alexander with his alluring wife and perfect son with no clue, with no care of what was happening right now. He was fucking dying and Alexander didn't care, because Alex doesn't know and that's what happens when soldiers go to war. A small memorial would be placed, maybe a meager pension for Martha, but then all attention would be on America now and not the unknown people who had fought for it with guns and horses instead of arguments and ink.

Something warm slid down his cheeks. He was crying. _Stop fucking crying_ , he told himself. _Life's a bitch and you knew it and yet here we are._

He didn't want to die and that surprised him. He wanted to laugh with Gilbert one more time and drink with Washington one more time and _goddamn love Alexander one more time._

Ironic that he didn't want to leave this world, the very same world that had the most disgusting things. _'Equality and Liberty for all!'_ they yelled. _'Only if you're one of us...'_ they meant.

How wonderful that he wanted to stay in a world that had slaves struck with iron rods and whipped on their already scarred backs and raped with absolutely no justice or mercy, and he couldn't help but think that it was his fault.

He's never gonna be able to help those people. He's never gonna abolish slavery and he'll never free those millions of innocent, mistreated people. Years and years from now, a black man or woman will never be safe and that thought brought him more grief than death.

It's still so _incredibly_ ironic. The earth was a dark, cruel place and still humanity feared death more than anything. Death seemed like an easy way to escape the world, but to him death was a punishment.

Death was a punishment to man because they were the one who corrupted the world. From the moment Adam and Eve stepped foot on the green grass.

Humanity's greatest enemy will always be humanity itself. _People_ murdered other people, _people_ caused war against other people, _people_ wronged other people.

At least there was some good, like when Alex smiled or Alex laughed or when Alex did anything. Thinking about his favorite person in the world made him feel better even though he obviously wasn't his favorite.

The world was still dark and cruel but it looked a little less dark and cruel when he knew the ones he loved were happy.

He could pretend that everything was sweet and good, fooling himself into thinking that Gil and Alex and his brothers and sisters would be next to him when he woke up, but he won't.

Reality was reality, and John Laurens was going to die, but goddammit he was going die honorably. He would be forgotten within a few decades like every other soldier, lost in the midst of the new nation. All that could be done was done, and he let the knowledge that the future could only hold progression comfort him.

John Laurens was dying and he was okay with that.

Minutes of contemplating felt like hours, as if the universe was trying to repay a favor. But he deserved this. Everyone deserved death no matter who you are.

Shuddering in one last breath, John Laurens died as a man, and as a hero.

~0o0~

That was so hard to write. I really hope this was good. Since I'm a kid I don't know the truth of war or dying and my writing skills are still developing.

I tried to convey that John Laurens was just a person, and a deeply flawed person at that. Nevertheless, he did amazing things that should be recognized and I'm glad that they are.

Some subtle Lams that you could see as romantic or platonic, whether you ship it or not.

I don't know about a person's last thoughts when dying so I hope this isn't bad or unrealistic. I tried to make his thoughts kind of scattered and disorganized.

America has such a dark history though, and I really wish they taught it more along with more historical figures that were erased. It's a part of this country whether we like it or not and we should acknowledge it and learn from it.

Thank you everyone for reading this, I appreciate your reviews and comments so much.


End file.
